


Body Snatchers Hypothesis

by orphan_account



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Masturbation, Mention of menstruation and periods and stuff, Mutual Masturbation, Puberty, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "It had been almost exactly two years since Michael had moved into Gob’s room, and for the very first time, Gob approached the room to find it locked. Well, technically, it was now their room, and had, as previously mentioned, been that way for almost exactly two years, but the stupid childish insistence on calling it his own room was really all Gob had left to remember the time he actually did have his own, frankly oversized, room, all to himself, before everyone in the whole family cruelly turned against him and forced him to share it with his stupid, mean, smelly baby brother Michael."16-year-old Michael starts locking the door. Gob gets concerned, angry, and then insanely curious. In that order.Starts out as fairly innocent kid fic, ends up PWP. As you do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully someone still cares about this show.  
> A plot bunny for a couple I don't even ship. I don't even know, this basically wrote itself.  
> Like I don't know this became this long. I genuinely don't.  
> Also ignore the fact that the Season 3 "not related" revelation makes this mean Lindsey got her period at age sixteen. She's a late bloomer I guess.

It had been almost exactly two years since Michael had moved into Gob’s room.

Well, technically, it was now _their_ room, and had, as previously mentioned, been that way for almost exactly two years, but the stupid childish insistence on calling it his own room was really all Gob had left to remember the time he actually did have his own frankly oversized room, all to himself, before everyone in the whole family cruelly turned against him and forced him to share it with his stupid, mean, smelly baby brother Michael.

At least, that’s how the situation went down in Gob’s head. In actuality, the situation went down a bit more like this:

Shortly after the twins’ thirteenth birthday, Gob had been sitting on the couch in the living room at 9am, having woken up early to watch the live magic act that always aired at precisely 7am on Saturday mornings and went on for three hours, a grueling three hours to the rest of the siblings but the house rule was that whoever got to the TV first got to choose the program, and Gob had recently completely rewired his circadian rhythm to allow him to be awake at 4am each Saturday morning, sitting silently in the dark, just waiting for the clock to strike seven.

Buster, his hair adorably still ruffled from sleep and sporting a pair of footy pajamas that were frankly rather unbecoming of a nine-year-old, was sitting next to him, munching on cereal and occasionally asking when he was going to be allowed to watch his cartoons. He might’ve stopped asking if Gob had bothered to answer him, but Gob barely heard anything because he was completely enraptured by the program.

Lucille was sitting in a recliner, sipping on the second glass of wine she’d had that morning since waking up approximately one hour ago and trying in vain to pretend she didn’t have any children or, for that matter, a single care in the entire world outside of sitting in a recliner and sipping wine. Unfortunately for her, that was a fourth-glass-of-morning-wine mentality and she was only halfway done with her second, so the children continued to exist and the cares continued to exist and she was completely convinced she simply had to be the most miserable, put-upon woman in the entire world. (Their housekeeper, who was cleaning up the dropped bits of cereal from the kitchen floor that had occurred from Lucille being too drunk to not let Buster pour his own bowl of cereal, probably would’ve disagreed with that sentiment.)

George was away. Possibly at work. Gob couldn’t remember; it wasn’t exactly uncommon for George to not be around for any specific event and it wasn’t exactly relevant to the story anyway.

Michael and Lindsey were still upstairs, asleep in their shared bedroom. Or, at least, that’s what any of the remaining occupants of the house would have believed, right up until the moment a shrill scream emanated from the upstairs.

To that day, nobody quite knew whether the scream had come from Michael or Lindsey.

Gob was roused from his program. Buster’s face scrunched up, like he wasn’t quite sure whether he should start crying but he was preparing to, just in case the need arose. Lucille let out a world-weary sigh and shook her head slowly, having resigned herself to the fact that she was unlikely to drink enough wine to forget about her cares before her cares came looking for her.

(Did I say “cares”? I meant children. Ah well. For Lucille, it was basically the same difference.)

It was Michael, however, who came barreling down the stairs an absolute mess, his face bright red and pinched up, tears gushing from his eyes, his mouth gaping like a fish trying to make noise.

Lucille, who had remained utterly silent up until this point, turned around and, using her wine glass to gesticulate, cried out, “Oh for the love of…what is it now, Michael?”

Michael took a few more seconds to gape wildly before finally letting out an eardrum-shattering wail and screaming, “LINDSEY’S DYING!”

Buster, seeing his cue, began to cry himself. Gob stared silently, not yet sure how to react. Lucille also didn’t quite seem sure how to react, but in the same way that Buster seemed pretty sure he was going to be crying that morning, there was still a certain pinch to the corners of Lucille’s mouth that seemed to imply she knew she was going to be doing some yelling.

“Whatever do you mean, Michael?” Lucille asked, her tone somehow both completely monotone and somewhat frantic, “What the dickens is wrong with her?”

Michael didn’t need to articulate what the dickens was wrong with her, because at that moment, Lindsey came shuffling down the stairs and continued to shuffle into the room. Her face was every bit as red as Michael’s, and her mouth was pulled into a tight line, her lower lip quivering. Silent tears poured down her cheeks. But it wasn’t her face that caught Gob’s attention, it was the blood. Gallons of it, seemingly, staining the front and inner thighs of her pale pink Hello Kitty pajama pants.

“It hurts,” Lindsey whimpered, clutching her stomach.

That was when Gob lost his cool.

“ZOMBIE!” he shrieked, taking the blood and the shuffling walk to be signs of the living dead. He flung himself backwards away from Lindsey, taking Buster and his bowl of cereal with him as he crashed to the ground. Buster wailed even louder. Gob kept shrieking. The bowl turned upside-down in midair and covered both boys and the entire floor around them in milk and milk-soaked cereal, then clattered to the ground and continued to clatter for far longer than seemed necessary, as if it had noticed that hey, everyone else was making noise, it might as well make noise too.

From the kitchen, the housekeeper, who had only just finished cleaning up the kitchen, let out a dismayed “Dios Mio!” as she scurried away to fetch more supplies for the much more disastrous sequel to the kitchen incident.

Lucille slammed down her wine glass onto the coffee table. Wine sloshed over the side.

“EVERYONE QUIET!” she cried. Somehow, everyone, even the bowl, obeyed her order.

Standing up and straightening herself up, she cleared her throat. “Now,” she said, “if everyone could just stop acting like the world is ending, I’d like to say a few things.”

She turned to address Michael directly. “Michael,” she said, “calm down. Your sister is not dying. I will explain the specifics to you later, but as you can see, I have quite a bit on my plate right now.”

Michael nodded and wiped his dripping nose in his sleeve. Lucille wrinkled her nose at the brutish behavior, but didn’t choose to comment on it at the time.

She turned to Buster and Gob. “Gob,” she said, “calm down. Your sister is not a zombie. You’re almost sixteen, you ought to know better than to get yourself all into a panic over that sort of nonsense. Now get yourself and Buster into a bath this instant, and thank the heavens you are affluent enough to be able to have a housekeeper to clean up this mess because heavens to Betsy, mister, you would be scrubbing on your hands and knees if not.”

“But my show – ” Gob tried to protest.

Lucille cut him off with a raise of her hand. “You can be grateful you got to watch two thirds of that awful program instead of none.”

Gob folded his arms and muttered to himself but didn’t protest any further.

“But my cereal –” Buster tried to add.

Lucille cut him off with a hand-raise, too, but Buster was somehow even less perceptive to being told off than Gob was, and began to wail again.

“OKAY!” Lucille cried, then rubbed her temples. “Okay. Fine. Once you’re done with the bath, Gob, get Buster some more cereal. Now march, misters. And try not to make too much of a mess on your way.”

Gob grabbed Buster none-too-gently by the wrist, yanking him violently towards the stairs. “I miss my show but you still get your cereal, not sure how that’s fair…”

“SILENCE, MISTER!” Lucille called after him.

Finally, her attention turned to Lindsey, who was still silently sobbing. Lucille over and crouched down in front of her daughter with a hand on the crying girl’s shoulder.

“Lindsey, dear,” said Lucille, very gently, “what is happening to you is nothing out of the ordinary. It’s a completely normal, totally disgusting, and incredibly embarrassing part of becoming a woman.”

Lindsey blinked at her mother. “So I’m not dying?”

“No,” Lucille replied, “just becoming a woman. Now, go into your father and I’s bathroom and take a nice long soak in my big tub, okay?”

Lindsey’s face lit up. “Really?”

Lucille nodded. “You’ve got a lot of years of pretty terrible weeks ahead of you, dear. The least you can do is start it off with a few niceties. Besides, you’re disgusting. Get that filth off of you before you end up getting it on anything of value.”

After Lindsey joyously dashed back upstairs, Lucille returned to her recliner. Michael sat on the couch, still looking bewildered.

Lucille took a deep sigh and a deep drink of the entire rest of the glass of wine. Then, as she was pouring herself a glass of wine, she remarked to Michael, “By the way, you and Lindsey can’t share a room anymore.”

Michael’s eyes went wide. “But we’re twins!”

“Yes, but Lindsey’s a woman now and it simply wouldn’t be proper.”

Michael furrowed his brow. “But there aren’t any empty rooms left!”

Lucille sighed. “Yes, dear, I know. I suppose you’ll have to share with one of your brothers.”

“Which one?” Michael asked.

Lucille drank half the new glass of wine in one gulp, then replied, “I don’t give a rat’s ass, Michael. Decide among yourselves.”

A few hours later, Lucille walked into the kitchen to get her bottle of afternoon wine and found Michael and Gob beating the living hell out of each other on the floor. Wordlessly stepping over them, she waited until the precise moment she was exiting the kitchen to turn around and call back to Michael:

“I suppose I do give a rat’s ass after all. You’ll be sharing with Gob.”

An impish smirk crossed Lucille’s face as the two boys let out a mutual cry of anguish. Finally, something the two agreed on.

The two boys whined and complained all throughout the process of relocating Michael into Gob’s room, and continued to whine and complain to their parents for weeks afterward. But George didn’t really care quite enough to even listen to their complaints for long enough to find out what was even wrong and Lucille almost never went back on a decision, so eventually they unhappily settled into their new forced cohabitation.

Anyway, long story aside, it had been almost two years since Michael had moved into Gob’s room, and for the very first time, Gob approached the room to find it locked.

Yes, the very first time. After all, Michael had no problems changing into pajamas with Gob in the room, and only fully changed after taking a shower in the bathroom down the hall. There was no phone in their room, so there was no need to close the door for privacy in that case, and if Michael had ever found himself unable to study or do homework unless he was entirely isolated, he’d likely had entirely flunked out of school by now because living with Lindsey, Gob, and Buster pretty much guaranteed that there was never going to be enough time to get any sort of studying done that wasn’t interrupted by one sibling or another.

So up until now, Michael had not yet found a reason to lock the door. Perhaps this was the reason, then, that Gob reacted so violently.

Pounding wildly on the door, Gob screamed Michael’s name as if he had awoken to discover, say, his roommate and sibling lying in a pool of their own blood, completely unaware that this was a thing that was an completely normal, totally disgusting, and incredibly embarrassing part of being a woman.

Michael flung the door open, looking alarmed. “Gob,” he asked, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

Gob threw his arms around his brother. “Oh, thank god,” he whispered into Michael’s hair. “I was so worried.”

Pushing Gob’s gangly limbs off him, Michael stared up at his brother. “What are you talking about?”

Gob pointed at the door. “The door was locked.”

Michael blinked. “So you assumed…what? That I was dying?”

Gob nodded earnestly.

“Do most people have the foresight to lock the door when they start dying?”

“Depends on the method of death, I guess,” Gob replied wisely.

Michael closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “No, Gob, I’m not dying. I just wanted a little privacy, okay?”

“You never needed privacy before,” Gob answered, cocking his head to the side. “Why now?”

“I just do, okay Gob?” Michael replied. “So from now on, if I lock the door…”

“You’re gonna do that to me again?!” Gob cried.

Michael took hold of his histrionic elder brother’s shoulder tightly and said, “Gob, please. If I lock the door, please don’t assume the worst. It’s just privacy, okay? It’s natural!”

With that, Michael returned to the room and Gob heard the lock click.

An intelligent teenaged boy would, perhaps, have figured the situation out almost immediately. A normal teenaged boy would likely have simply brushed it off as nothing and gone on about their day. An unintelligent…or, well, perhaps that’s a bit much. An abnormal…no, no, that’s a bit much too.

A…uh…well…hmm. How to put this?

A teenaged boy who was…uh, like Gob, for example, would have done none of those things. His mind would have gone into overdrive and he came up with any number of bizarre, unlikely scenarios involving his brother hiding a fugitive from the law in their bedroom, or that he was performing cult rituals that would ultimately end in him sacrificing Gob to his new god, or having had his body taken over by a race of tiny aliens and having to lock the door when they needed to leave the body to get some air.

Gob sat down outside his room, which was technically his and Michael’s room, and let his mind wander. Fortunately, Lindsey exited her own room, which was formerly her and Michael’s room, before Gob could get any further than the body snatchers hypothesis.

Lindsey stopped and stared down at her older brother. Gob stopped and stared up at his younger sister.

After a moment of pondering, Gob realized there were a lot of things he could ask. He could ask if she knew what was going on with Michael. He could ask her to maybe talk to Michael for him, since his own attempt at talking to him had gone south. He could even ask her if she knew the best way to avoid being sacrificed to a cult.

He didn’t ask any of those things, however. What he asked was if she knew how to pick a lock.

“Of course,” Lindsey answered without missing a beat. “What lock do you need picked?”

“Oh, none now,” Gob replied. “Later, though, maybe.”

Lindsey could have asked any number of questions too, but there had also been any number of situations in which she had asked a few too many questions of any one of her brothers and regretted it almost immediately, so instead of asking any questions she just shrugged.

“Well,” she said, “if you need me, you know where I live.” And she headed off.

Gob didn’t ask her the next time Michael locked the door. He didn’t ask her the next fourteen times, actually, which happened over the course of about a week and a half.

Instead, he started trying to figure it out for himself. He started timing how long Michael was locking the door for, but the evidence was inconclusive. Sometimes it was as short as twenty minutes, other times it lasted several hours. One fateful day it happened for almost twelve hours, disappearing just after breakfast and not coming out all day. Just as Gob was sitting down to be too worried to eat his dinner, Michael appeared, sliding into his usual chair between Gob and Lindsey and seemingly not believing anything out of the ordinary had just occurred.

Michael ate dinner, behaving completely naturally in spite of the fact that Gob kept giving him over-the-top looks ranging from questioning to accusing to devastated, and then as soon as he was dismissed from the table he headed right back upstairs. Gob finished his own dinner and quickly ascended the stairs and raced down the hall to confirm that, yes, the door was locked again.

It stayed locked for so long that, the next morning, Michael almost tripped over Gob as he left the room to go to the bathroom.

“Why are you on the floor?” Michael asked.

Gob rubbed the back of his thigh where Michael’s foot had hit it. “You locked the door all night. I stayed up until like 2am before I decided to just sleep out here!”

They stayed like that for a tense moment before Michael muttered a hurried apology and then headed off to the bathroom. Gob shuffled into the bedroom and crawled into bed. He didn’t stir until Michael returned home from school, accidentally waking him by bumping the door into a dresser rather loudly.

“Have you been sleeping all day?” Michael asked, setting his backpack down on his bed and rummaging around to dig out the specific books and notebooks he needed for homework.

“Yeah,” Gob replied. “Thanks for telling Mom I was sick, or whatever you did.”

“I didn’t,” Michael said, realizing all too quickly his mistake when Gob looked briefly hurt at being reminded of their mother’s callous attitude towards him. “Uh, but I think maybe Lindsey did. Or Buster.”

“Right,” Gob replied, all too willing to believe the obvious lie.

There was a long silence.

“I am genuinely sorry, though,” Michael said finally. “I didn’t mean to lock the door all night, I just fell asleep and forgot I’d locked it.”

“It’s okay,” Gob replied, stretching and sitting up in bed. “Why’d you lock it though, Mikey? Can’t you tell me?”

“No,” Michael replied, going rather pink in the face. “I don’t want to talk about it, Gob. Please just drop it.”

“Fine,” Gob huffed. “Do you want me to leave, then, so you can lock the door while you do your homework?”

“I’ve never done that,” Michael replied, sounding confused. “You can stay while I do homework. I don’t mind that at all.”

Gob, who was still tired in the way that sleeping all day can make you be, laid back down and drifted off, realizing unhappily that he was rather unlikely to find out what Michael had been doing at all.

Luckily for him, Michael woke him up only an hour later and apparently suddenly really wanted to talk about the whole door locking thing. Just not quite in the way Gob had in mind.

“You have to get out,” Michael said. He did at least have the decency to sound like he felt kind of shitty about it, but it wasn’t enough to assuage Gob’s anger.

“Seriously?” Gob cried. “I’m sleeping! What can you possibly need to do that you can’t do while I’m sleeping!”

“You just have to go, okay?” Michael insisted. “I’m sorry, but I just…need to lock the door.”

“So lock it then!” Gob insisted. “Please, Mikey, I’m tired! I won’t bother you, I just want to sleep.”

Michael seemed to consider it for a moment, then shook his head. “Sorry. Please, go.”

Gob was too tired to argue and just begrudgingly shuffled out into the hall. He slumped down to the ground and fell asleep outside the door once again.

And once again he was woken up by Michael, this time telling him he could come back in. It was one of the shorter times, no longer than half an hour.

Michael looked almost as exhausted as Gob and completely ruffled. Gob shoved past him and flopped down in bed.

“Fuck you, Michael,” Gob snapped. “This is my room.”

“Our room,” Michael pointed out, not looking up from the desk.

“Fuck you,” Gob reiterated, and then fell grumpily to sleep.

It was one of the only times they’d ever had a verbal fight that didn’t end up with a physical fight. For some reason, Michael felt really guilty about that specifically.

Not guilty enough to stop locking the door, though.

They did end up physically fighting over it eventually, though. Gob had accidentally spilled orange juice on his shirt during breakfast and, when he went upstairs to change, he found the door locked. No amount of banging on the door and pleading to be let in seemed to change Michael’s mind.

Ultimately Gob ended up having to borrow one of Buster’s less embarrassing shirts. However, even the less embarrassing ones were still pretty embarrassing, and he ended up spending a whole day wearing a t-shirt with a dinosaur on it with a speech bubble reading ‘I’m Ad-RAWR-able’. The teasing was almost unimaginable, and it left Gob in a seriously sour mood.

His mood hadn’t gotten any less sour by the time he got home, and when he spotted Michael standing at the fridge getting a snack, the sour mood turned to pure rage. He tackled Michael to the ground, holding Michael’s wrists together with one hand, pinning his legs by sitting on his thighs and using his free hand to lay a piercing slap across Michael’s face.

“Ow!” Michael cried. “God, Gob, what the –”

SLAP!

“Do you know what I went through today because of you?”

“What are you talking about?”

SLAP!

“Why wouldn’t you just let me into the damn room, Michael?”

“I was busy, I told you, I need – ”

SLAP!

“Yeah, yeah, privacy, I’ve heard it, Michael, but you can’t just lock yourself in a room that all of my shit’s in, okay? Especially not on a school day. Especially when Buster dumps orange juice down your shirt, and the only thing you have left is a shirt with a really witty dinosaur pun on it that you didn’t get until the cute girl in homeroom tells you what it means.”

“Gob, come on, I –”

SLAP!

“Oh, but she didn’t tell me, Michael. She told her friend, and they laughed so loud everyone else wanted to know what was so funny, so they told them. And, funny, isn’t it, how nobody else really needed it explained! Nobody but me, Michael, because rather than letting me in to get a new shirt, you left me high and dry and having to borrow one of Buster’s shirts. What the fuck are you going to say about that, Michael? Huh?”

“Gob, I’m so—”

SLAP!

“Huh, sorry, couldn’t hear you, what was that?”

“I’m so—”

SLAP!

“Gotta speak louder, brother, can’t quite hear you.”

“Gob! Please, I’m—”

SLAP!

“I’m –”

SLAP!

“SORRY! I’m SORRY, okay? I’m sorry!”

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Gob’s face was inches from Michael’s, breathing heavily and feeling the sharp sting in his palm from where he’d just fairly mercilessly assaulted Michael’s cheeks.

“Damn right,” Gob murmured. He released Michael’s wrists, and Michael took that opportunity to slug Gob straight in the jaw.

“FUCK!” Gob cried, tumbling backwards onto his ass and biting his tongue. As he sat there tasting blood and massaging his own aching cheek, he watched Michael dash off.

“No way,” Gob muttered. “He wouldn’t. He fucking wouldn’t.”

But sure enough, once Gob rinsed the blood out of his mouth and checked to make sure no teeth were broken (they weren’t), Gob found the door locked again.

He considered many things. He considered beating the door down. He considered screaming so many obscenities at Michael that he’d probably open the door just to save his virgin ears from any further assault. He considered crumbling to the ground and just having a good cry.

Instead, he went to Lindsey, and together, sitting on the floor of her bedroom, they came up with a plan.

At dinner, Gob, still wearing Buster’s shirt, sat beside Lindsey and looked positively perky for a guy with a massive bruise blooming on his face. Michael, whose face was still red from Gob’s earlier assault, paused for a moment when approaching the table but eventually just sat down between Lindsey and Buster without saying a word.

Dinner was eaten in tense silence.

After dinner, just as Gob predicted, Michael went upstairs and locked the door. Michael had no such predictions, and was thus completely caught off guard when the lock clicked open seemingly of its own accord and Gob stormed into the room.

“Aha!” Gob yelled, clearly having planned this line long before he actually saw what Michael was doing. “Caught you red-handed, doing…”

Michael was sitting in bed, the covers pulled up to his sternum and his face far redder than Gob’s slaps could possibly be blamed for.

“Oh.” Gob said. He paused for a moment, just standing in the open doorway.

“Could you close the door, please?” Michael squeaked. “Before Lindsey walks by or something?”

Gob obediently closed the door behind him.

“I meant with you on the other side!” Michael cried.

Gob sighed. “Michael, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Gob, I really don’t want to be talking to you right now.”

Gob continued to cross the room. Michael shrank down further into his bed.

“If you’d have told me I’d have left you alone,” Gob stated. “It crossed my mind that this was what you were doing but I was like, no way, if that’s all it was he’d have told me. But it turns out I was right all along.”

Gob paused for a second. “I was right, wasn’t I? I mean…you are jerking off?”

“Jesus, Gob!” Michael wailed. “Don’t…”

“What? Aren’t you?”

Michael dropped his head back against the headboard. “Yes, okay? Yes, that’s what I’m doing.”

Gob sat down on his own bed. “That’s…wow.” Gob paused. “Kind of impressive, actually.”

“Thanks, I guess, now can you just…”

“I mean, you were in here what, several times a day?” Gob continued. “Sometimes even – oh my god, there was that one time you were in here for like, a day! How did you…that kind of stamina! How many times did you come that day?”

Michael couldn’t even find words. He just squeaked in absolute humiliation and tried to sink into the bed even further than was technically possible.

“Oh come on!” Gob cried. “You have to tell me, I’ll die not knowing! You might’ve beat, like, a record or something, and I’d just be, like, devastated, spending my whole life not knowing if my own brother beat an orgasm record at the ripe old age of sixteen!”

Michael sighed. It couldn’t get much more embarrassing, he figured. He might as well tell him.

“None,” Michael murmured, eyes squeezed shut. “I didn’t come at all.”

“Huh?” Gob asked. “Why not?”

“Because I couldn’t, because I never could, because I’ve never been able to and I’m starting to think I maybe can’t?” Michael said, not opening his eyes for fear of seeing Gob’s amused expression. “And it’s so frustrating, because I feel like, like maybe if I could have just _one_ I could stop feeling like this all the time, so…pent up, and hot, and flustered, like if I could just get that feeling out _one time_ , I could…”

The springs creaked and Michael’s eyes popped open in horror as Gob sat down on Michael’s bed.

He finally met Gob’s eyes and was surprised to see genuine sympathy.

“Michael,” Gob said softly, tenderly. “Why didn’t you tell me? I can help!”

Michael’s face went impossibly red. “Um, no, no I don’t think you can, actually, Gob, that sounds super creepy actually and I don’t want that at all, thank you.”

Gob waved him off. “Oh, come on, I don’t mean actually touch you, Mikey. That’d be crossing a line, I think, that we don’t want to cross.”

Michael sighed in relief.

“I just figured I could show you a few tricks I’ve learned by doing them to myself while you follow along on your own…equipment, so to speak.”

Relief gone. Michael went red again. “I, I, I don’t think…”

Gob shook his head. “Mikey, you don’t have to show me anything you don’t want to. You can stay covered, okay?”

Micheal paused. This situation was probably a million kinds of wrong, but he was so frustrated he couldn’t see straight, and it wasn’t like this was to be the first time he’d ever seen Gob naked. Michael preferred to change in the bathroom, yes, but Gob boldly stripped off entirely in the room fairly frequently. And if he, Michael, himself, didn’t have to show anything, he wasn’t quite so mortified at the concept.

“What do you say, Mikey?” Gob asked, the tenderness in his voice so foreign it was almost bizarre to think it was even still Gob’s voice. “Let me do this for you?”

Michael swallowed hard. “Okay.”

It was all the encouragement Gob needed, and he quickly hopped off Michael’s bed and started shedding clothing. Michael tried not to look at first, the way he always kind of tried not to look when Gob was changing, but then remembered that looking was kind of the point and let himself.

Gob was that weird combination of incredibly slender and bizarrely well-toned, and that combination continued all the way through to the parts Michael didn’t usually get to see. That was to say, basically, that Michael didn’t ever expect to be low-key eyeing up his brother’s backside, but he had to admit that now that he basically was, it wasn’t an unpleasant sight.

Gob flopped back down onto Michael’s bed. Michael scooted as far to the other side of the bed as he could. These rooms were so big, they did actually fit two full-size beds in there, so it wasn’t as close and awkward as Michael might have expected.

Still kind of awkward, though, especially when Gob took himself in hand and breathily asked, “Are you hard, Mikey?”

Michael swallowed hard and wordlessly nodded.

“Good for you,” Gob encouraged. “Give me just a second and I’ll be right there with you, and we can get started.”

It did only really take about a second, only two or three strokes and Gob had become fully hard in his own hand. Michael found himself not having to exactly force himself to watch. Gob’s cock was surprisingly good-looking. Michael didn’t really like dicks, usually, but he found himself kind of enjoying how Gob’s looked. Long and kind of slender, softly curving up towards Gob’s belly.

“Okay,” Gob said, voice already a little wrecked and slightly out of breath. Michael’s belly swirled at the sound of it. “So here are a few moves I personally really, uh, really like. But everyone’s different so don’t be too discouraged if they don’t necessarily work on you. There’s lots more we can try. Okay? So, uh, just…just follow my lead.”

As Michael watched, Gob took the tip of his index finger and with a feather-light touch, traced the biggest vein from base to tip, slowly, lightly. Then he took two fingers and, just as lightly, began lightly running them along the very tip of his cock. Judging by the breathy noises that escaped Gob’s lips as he did so, the move was driving Gob absolutely mad.

Michael tried to copy him but found that it mostly just annoyed him. He craved a stronger grip and the light touches just felt like pointless teasing.

When Gob asked, Michael told him as much. Looking back at him with blown-out pupils, Gob simply shrugged.

“Okay, uh. Try this one then.”

Gob made a ring with his index finger and thumb and curled them around the base of his cock. He then dragged them up and down slowly, then more quickly. He was quickly gasping and trembling, seemingly having to force himself to stop when he got too into it.

Michael tried it too, but it was the same as before – he was starting to realized that Gob really enjoyed light teasing, but while that might be fun for someone used to having orgasms, it just felt like added torture for Michael, who had never had one.

Once again Michael articulated this to Gob, who bit his lip and nodded silently.

They went through a variety of other unusual sorts of moves, all of which turned Gob into a mess but left Michael mostly unsatisfied.

“Okay,” Gob said, his lips red from being bitten and his pupils almost completely blown out now, the iris just a light, tiny ring around the very edge. “Well, uh, maybe we’d better return to the basics. The original, right?”

Michael, not entirely understanding, just nodded.

“Okay,” Gob said again. “Okay.”

Gob finally curled his whole fist around his cock and used both his hand and the movement of his hips to produce friction. Michael, who had only ever tried with his hand, followed Gob’s lead and used his hips as well.

This, finally, seemed to get them somewhere.

“Oh,” Michael breathed out. “Oh, okay, I think we…got it.”

“Yeah?” Gob asked. He let out a breathy laugh. “Thank god. I’m going kind of crazy over here.”

Now given permission to finally go to town, Gob was really getting into it. His breathy moans and deep, rumbling groans of pleasure were doing things to Michael he’d never really expected. He realized, with a jolt, that he was basically now masturbating to Gob’s voice.

Fuck, not even just his voice. Michael’s eyes couldn’t decide where to land; on Gob’s hand moving rapidly up and down his beautiful cock or his blissed-out expression, puffy lips in a soft “O” and eyes squeezed shut, head tipped back against Michael’s spare pillow. Both were so good, both were so good, and Michael felt a feeling he never felt before.

Deep in his belly, he could feel a tenseness, an unfamiliar tightness. His cock, especially the head of his cock, felt hot and sensitive and close to exploding.

But then, right as he was getting there…it ebbed away.

“Fuck,” Michael muttered, “Gob, I can’t…”

“I know,” Gob cried, voice tense and going a bit high, “I know, Michael, fuck, I’m close too.”

Michael almost corrected his mistake but he couldn’t, because he realized he was now watching Gob on the brink of orgasm and he didn’t have the heart or the self-restraint to stop his brother from getting his release.

Gob dragged his thumb over the head of his cock and, in a mess of gasps and squeezed-tight eyes and moans that were way too hot to be fair to Michael’s poor horny brain, Gob had just about reached his peak.

“Ohh god,” Gob whimpered. “Michael, god…”

Michael’s eyes went wide, and there it was. Gob let out one more incredibly hot moan and spilled his seed all over his own hand and splattering onto his belly.

Gob laid there breathing heavily, looking incredibly blissed out.

It took a moment, but he did, eventually, realize what had happened.

“Fuck,” Gob muttered. “Sorry, Mikey, I didn’t mean to, I thought…”

“It’s okay,” Michael said quickly. “I actually…that was nice. I think I get it now.”

“Okay,” Gob said. “That’s good.”

They laid there for another long moment, Michael feeling way too hot and still not sure he could get there on his own.

He was sort of relieved when Gob looked at him and said, shame in his eyes, “Mikey, look, you can get there next time…let me help you this time, okay? It doesn’t have to be, you know, weird, or…”

Michael was way too overheated and flustered to argue. He threw the blankets aside and just melted into the bed when he felt unfamiliar fingers curl around his length.

Gob seemed to have taken Michael’s notes into consideration. He doesn’t try to tease, doesn’t go for any of those feather-light touches. Instead, he grips Michael tight, and pumps his fist in an almost perfect rhythm, and Michael is absolutely writhing on the bed and probably making some very pornographic noises. Michael isn’t quite sure what he’s doing; for him the whole world has become Gob’s hand and the entire point of the universe is the orgasm that Michael can finally, finally feel on the horizon.

Michael does hear himself cry out, but it’s so far away, it’s like he’s underwater, and then the absolute best feeling he’s ever had in his whole life washes over him and he wants to laugh and he wants to cry and he wants to scream and he thinks he may have done all three but all his nerve endings are on fire and he sees pink light behind his eyelids as he squeezes them closed and just tries to hold on for the ride.

When he comes back to himself, he’s soaked with cold sweat and he’s exhausted and Gob is looking at him with the strangest combination of affection, awe, and arousal and he doesn’t know how to process any of it.

“I need to sleep,” he says.

“I know,” Gob says softly.

They lay there for a moment, and then Gob clears his throat and says, “Mikey, look, uh, I do really hope I taught you enough today that you can do this yourself from now on, but if not, please, Mikey, just tell me, and I’ll give you more lessons, or, uh, or we can do…that…if you want, whatever you want, okay?”

Michael looks at him for a long time.

“I can make you happy, Mikey,” Gob says softly, and there’s that tone again that just sounds so unlike Gob and like it might be how Gob means to sound all the time, Michael isn’t sure but it makes Michael feel something, too.

“I know,” Michael says finally. “And I’ll…I’ll keep you updated, okay?”

Gob smiles. “Okay.”

Michael can’t keep his eyes open anymore. He sinks into the bed and ignores how wet and sticky he is and just drifts off.

He thinks he might’ve heard a “love ya, Mikey” from the other side of the room, but he was sleepy. He might’ve just been hearing things.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this at all please leave a comment!


End file.
